


BElieVE ME

by LilianaJusic



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Crying, Death, Desperation, Homosexuality, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Romance, Sad, Secret Crush, Understanding, Unrequited Love, ameland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 18:12:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17350112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilianaJusic/pseuds/LilianaJusic
Summary: Jisung buys an urn, which he thinks will look good in his apartment. However, when he gets home he realizes inside the urn are someone's ashes.





	BElieVE ME

_Intro_

  
_“It hurts like hell when you know that you need to let go of someone, but you can’t, because you’re still waiting for the impossible to happen.” – unknown_

Jisung sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. What a cold day… autumn clearly had passed, yet there was no snow. Thank god. Jisung didn’t like snow, it was too cold and wet for his liking, it was slippery and his friend would force him to shovel the snow, once it would have covered the little parking space in front of his apartment. Or better, his shared apartment. He was living together with his two closest friends, Chan and Changbin. With him being the youngest and needing to take care of shovelling, doing the kitchen and so on. At least he didn’t need to cook. Cooking was Chan’s thing.  
Walking. Thinking, not thinking. Jisung dragged himself further and further down the street, ignoring the much too bright lights of the shops around him. It was a busy street on a busy evening. The sky above him was pitch black, but the world around him seemed to glow. So, so bright and golden, Jisung felt safe like this. Walking in a crowd of unknown people in a barely known city at night. He didn’t even know what he had planned to do after he got home. Probably watch some tv and eating dinner, then listening to Changbin’s music, which the elder, yet smaller one had produced that day and after doing the kitchen he’d watch some series on his laptop. He was the only one who liked horror movies. Or well, Changbin did so as well, but he was always too busy to watch with him. And Chan was doing his stuff, pulling back into his room and not coming out until morning. Chan was their alarm clock. Yes, you could call it like that. Chan as alarm and cook, Jisung doing everything exhausting and annoying and Changbin… Changbin was just there.  
Unconsciously, the blonde one lifted his gaze up from the ground, turning his head to look into the shops just as the music from the head phones he wore changed to some hip-hop beat. He was sure he had walked down this street every day for over two months by now, but he had never noticed that little dusty-looking book shop to his right side. It had no lights at all, was pulled into the side street and swallowed by darkness and covered up by the bright lights all around it. Jisung stopped, letting his bangs fall into his eyes and ignoring the cursing man behind him, that had almost walked right into him.  
Biting his lips, he thought about entering it. It had a strangely attractive aura and Jisung found himself being unable to resist the curiosity and enter the little shop. Who would have thought that his boringly normal life would take a sudden turn after that night…?

 

 

  
“Jisung?”  
Jisung blinked, the bright light blending his eyes and he pressed them shut. “What is it?” Chan stood in front of him, holding the vase, which he had brought him, in front of his chest. “That’s not a vase, kiddo.” Jisung frowned. “It’s an urn.” Chan smirked amusedly, but the younger one only jerked his shoulders. “Fine, it’s pretty.”  
“There are someone’s ashes inside.” Chan’s voice got a little more serious and Jisung finally looked up again, eyes a little wide. Ashes? Disgusting…  
“For real?” He asked, getting up and taking the urn out of Chan’s hands. “Don’t get me wrong, but I’m not putting that in my house anywhere.” He nodded. Jisung understood, but he was still curious and opened it as well. It’s not even as worse as he thought it was. It was just plain grey, dusty and it looked like complete normal ash. Just a bit brighter and smoother. “If you like it, you can have it back.” Chan turned his back towards Jisung, about to leave the room. “Dinner?” he asked as he left. Jisung needed a moment to drag his attention back to his friend. “Order chicken?” he said, eyes sparkling. He loved chicken. “Fine.” Came the reply, but it was dim.

Jisung couldn’t help opening the little box, which was attached to the urn, ripping open the lock. The person was dead, right? Nobody would mind him taking a look at it.  
Jisung frowned. There were plenty of old polaroid images, so old they were orange coloured and dusty. He took them out carefully, looking through them quickly. The sea.  
He turned them to check of there’s something written on the back. He thought right.  
“A place where I always wanted to  
be, but never was.” 19. 04  
Korea was surrounded by the sea, how come somebody had never seen it? It weren’t even nice pictures, it was a complete normal beach like everyone else, yet it was different. Another one said: “Holland, Ameland, 14. 6. 1932”  
So far away. Jisung shuddered and pulled the blanket tighter around his skinny shoulders. The person must have been chasing his dreams.  
Jisung sighed, so many rips of old, smudged paper pieces were inside. Maybe, he’d read them.

 

 _“Brown eyes were never my_  
 _favourite. Until I saw yours.” 11. 05_  
It was the next day when Jisung read the first shred of paper and wondered who this person was talking about.  
Dawn was crawling over the tall houses of Seoul, night was near. He felt hungry, but wasn’t in the mood to eat. It felt weird. He was longing to know more about this person, so much more. He was satisfied with just a name maybe, anything. He put the rip of paper in an empty glass, grabbing the urn, which he had put on top of a shelf over his bed. What a beautifully shaped and decorated urn. It was white, had a dark blue pattern that looked like trees and a name, written in a lively font, small at the bottom.  
In love, Minho.  
Jisung bit his bottom lip, asking himself who had made the urn. A friend? Or his parents? Maybe his wife?  
Minho.  
What a pretty name. Jisung smiled, feeling weird all of sudden. He was holding someone’s ashes here, reading texts and wondering about the person. A dead person. Jisung put the urn over his head again, crossing his arms.  
Thinking. Not thinking. He sure had a talent for overthinking.  
“Jisung!”  
He heard Changbin calling for him. So, dinner must be ready. Dinner was the only reason for Changbin to leave his room. Dinner and his ominous friend, Felix. Sighing, he got up, leaving his room.

 

“So, you bought a carcass because you mistook it for a vase?” Changbin hit his fork onto the table, laughing. Jisung felt small, chewing on his chicken. His friends had no idea how pissed he was. “My goodness!” Changbin was still laughing. Chan just smirked huffily, taking another bite. “Can you mind your own business?” Jisung spoke up, but forcing himself to stay calm. ‘Shut up, shut up…’ he thought, feeling the ache in his head increasing. Wow, the good old migraine.  
“I’ll leave.” Jisung stated, getting up all of sudden and startling his two friends. “Where are you going?” Chan asked with a full mouth. “Need some fresh air.” Jisung replied, his voice low. He wasn’t keen on staying here. He needed some time to think a little more about that certain person he just got to know.

 

Jisung opened the door soundlessly when he returned. Darkness had taken over the city, but it was still bright. All the lights turned Seoul into a living lightbulb. However, Jisung actually liked the darkness more. He felt comfortable, being alone for himself. Not that he didn’t need his friends, he just also needed a lot of time for himself.  
He left his shoes in the corridor, walking upstairs and into his room, his home, his own four walls he liked the most. Everything was just how he left it, the urn still stood on the shelf and the little piece of paper was still folded in the empty glass, that wasn’t empty anymore now. Jisung swallowed, letting his jacket fall onto the ground and carelessly let himself fall onto his bed. Even though he did nearly nothing today, he felt like he had been working all the time and running a marathon after dinner. He closed his eyes, dozing off.

 

 _“He loved me._  
 _I loved him._  
 _If only he were him.” 29. 05_  
Jisung’s hands were a little shaky. So, Minho was homosexual? He bit his lips, crumbling the piece of paper in his fingers and letting it fall into the glass. Disgusting…  
No wonder he killed himself. Jisung wasn’t against homosexuals at all, he understood them even. However, he didn’t want a friend that was.  
Who would turn down such a proposal though? Minho seemed like a very thoughtful and tender person. How did he look?  
Was he tall? Or short? Was he like Jisung? Maybe he liked sports, maybe he liked the darkness as well. Maybe, he was afraid of it and minded it. Jisung felt curious. He took out his laptop and opened Duckduckgo. What a wonderful page! He typed in ‘Minho’.  
Thousands of results, but none of them were really relevant. There were articles about idols, singers, politicians, actors. All famous people, but not about his Minho. The one he was searching for. He sighed, what did he expect? Should he check which people died recently? What if his Minho wasn’t even dead yet? He might be alive, looking at him and being amused over how Jisung thought about him. How he turned Jisung’s life upside down right now.  
Maybe he was meant? Maybe Minho referred to him. After all, he was a guy and he had brown eyes. However, the thought of someone stalking him and sending him an urn and those little messages creeped him out and he quickly threw the thought away. Even though he found it kind of exciting. Unconsciously, he grabbed the box, letting his fingers slide in and picking out another piece of paper, the next one. They were all labelled with the date they were written.  
“I could start fires with what  
I feel for you.” 03. 06  
Oh man, how Jisung wanted someone to speak of him the way Minho wrote about this person. What a lucky dude. He felt bad for thinking Minho was disgusting. Minho was probably the most sensitive person he knew. Or didn’t know? Whatever. He was curious about him, he wanted to know how Minho looked. Minho. He didn’t know why those thoughts were making him feel like this. He was way too excited to do anything else. So, he grabbed another rip of paper, a very crumbled and often folded one.  
“When I dance, nobody  
judges me.” 04. 06  
Minho was a dancer then? Jisung smiled. All dancers were handsome, right?  
However, the blush on his cheeks didn’t stay long as he cleared his mind. What the hell was he thinking about? He drove his fingertips over the surface of the paper, feeling how old it was and much he had been folded and unfolded and crumbled together and opened again.  
His alarm ripped him back from his daydreaming into reality and made him jerk at the sudden music that started to play. He was late already…

 

 _“You and I, always almost._  
 _Again and again._  
 _We were always on_  
 _the verge of almost._  
 _Never nothing. Never something.” 15. 06_  
Jisung often wondered what Minho was to him. He felt stranger and more unsure every day, as if he missed something that had never been his. As days passed by, he read more and more of Minho’s texts, reading the old ones he had already red again, analysing the pretty handwriting and the different pencils. He knew Minho’s writing and he knew Minho so good by now, it felt like they’ve been friends for a long time. It felt as if… Minho was his. He didn’t mind. He liked Minho anyway, he didn’t know how, but he did. This mysterious person was dear to him and he wanted to see him. How did Minho look?  
Jisung swallowed, grabbing the bundle of pictures again and flipping through the old polaroid films. He had only seen two images, maybe there was one of Minho.  
He was right. Or at least he thought he was right. Maybe it was the nameless person Minho adored so much. Jisung scanned the picture. It was a guy, skinny, a little taller than him maybe. He had dark hair, wore a pretty big black shirt and jeans. He looked like a complete normal person, but Jisung had to admit that he had an incredibly lovable face. What a pretty guy…  
He turned the film, writing the scrabbles on the back.  
“For our lovely son, Minho.”  
Jisung swallowed. His parents might have written that. Must. And they gave it to him as a present. He turned the image around again, staring at the boy. What a beautiful boy, or better, man. Such soft, yet manly features. Such beautiful eyes, a beautiful smile. Wow. Jisung was absolutely stunned. He didn’t expect his Minho to be like this. Wonderful.  
Jisung grabbed his phone and stuffed the picture inside. As much as he wanted to look at it a little longer, he knew he needed to leave for his part time job.

 

 

 

_“You are not mine, but sometimes_   
_I pretend you wish you were._   
_I create this idea that_   
_you secretly want me._   
_And I often forget_   
_it’s just something I’ve made up._   
_You don’t want me_   
_and you’re not mine.”_   
_22\. 06_

Jisung read the little text over and over again. He felt dim, somehow, all his emotions seemed dulled and unreal, he didn’t know what to think as he held the little piece in his hands. So many emotions were on it, so many messages and so many things that revealed more about Minho’s mysterious personality. Jisung gulped, feeling his fingers shaking a little. It’s just a shred of crumbled paper, yet he wanted to keep it. Keep those words inside his head, keep the crooked letters in his mind. He wanted to meet Minho so badly. Of who was he talking, or better writing?  
Jisung swallowed once again. He wanted to be this person.

 

“Chan, how do I find a person which I only know the name of?” Jisung stood beside his friend, who was writing some notes into his little booklet. He blinked confusedly, looking up. “You mean Minho?” He had told Chan a lot. Opposite from Changbin, Chan was a good listener and seemed to understand every way Jisung felt right now. “Yes, Minho.” He hoped for a useful answer.  
“Jisung… Minho’s dead.” His friend’s voice was quiet again, as if he pitied him. Jisung didn’t like that. “And if he’s not?” He felt himself growing sad. Minho’s alive, right? He couldn’t be dead, not yet. Right now when Jisung finally found a way to be happy, something to think about.  
“Do you love him?” Chan asked, slicing the burdening silence. Jisung swallowed. Then, he nodded. “Yes.” He wasn’t lying. He didn’t know if it was love he felt for Minho. Minho was a man, dead probably and he didn’t know why he would have any feelings for him. It was just a man, right? However, he couldn’t deny that he longed for the other to be with him. Every day. Every minute. He was gone, but he was everywhere. “How much” His friend made Jisung look up, blinking against the light. “Does it matter?” he asked back, asking himself the question inside his head, thinking. Not thinking. Thinking again. “Why does it not?” Chan settled himself down on a chair opposite from Jisung, folding his hands in front of his chest as he leaned backwards. Jisung gulped, holding the eye-contact.  
“Because it wasn’t enough to make him stay.”

 

 

 

 _“I know I’m nothing close to special, but you_  
 _make me feel like I am.” 25. 06_  
Who the hell was he talking about? Jisung wondered, laying on his bed and holding another shred of paper over his face, scanning it. Minho was special in so many ways that he couldn’t number them anymore. He wondered if Minho wanted the person he loved to find all this. All those pictures, all those texts and writings, poems you could say, it was all so precious. Who could say no to such a proposal? Who would kill somebody as soft and tender like Minho?  
Jisung sat up then, lost in his thoughts. He put the piece of paper back into the box and took out another one, a bigger one. Apparently, his plan of only reading one each day was long gone. It was burned at the edges even, maybe Minho wanted to get rid of his thoughts like this. He folded it open carefully, reading the smudged phrases.  
“You don’t just stop loving someone because  
they don’t love you back.” 01. 07  
Oh, how right he was. How sad he must have been, hurt, alone. Jisung almost felt the pain Minho had had to carry on his shoulders, so much of it. However, he couldn’t believe that it had really crushed him. Jisung folded it again, not reading it another time. He quickly put it back into his box, closing the lid securely and taking out a pencil and a block. Then, he started writing.  
“I want to know you.” He mouthed his words, cursing at his ugly handwriting. It was for Minho, he would write something for the elder as well. Something he wanted to tell him.  
“I want to know whether you are afraid of sharks or spiders, death or love.  
I want to know if it’s grammatical errors that drive you crazy, or the people correcting them.  
If you’re more comfortable shaking sand out of your hair, or snow.  
If you prefer coffee or tea. Bars or board game nights.  
I want to know which one of your friends you’ve ever cried in front of, if you’ve ever laughed chocolate milk out of your nose or kissed someone you didn’t love.  
I want to know you.  
The you beneath the layer of small talk always kept shined and lonely.  
I just hope one day you’ll invite me in.”  
\- Han Jisung, 3th of January  
Jisung put the pen back down, looking at the sheet. It was so bad compared to Minho’s, so emotionless and quick. Embarrassing. However, he still folded it carefully. Minho would like this. He was sure.

 

 

 

 _“Eventually soulmates meet_  
 _for they have the same_  
 _hiding place.” 04. 07_  
Minho met his soulmate?  
Jisung found it intense how mad he got when he realized it was not him. If Minho had only chosen him. He would have taken Minho in, he would have taken care of him and loved him. Loved him in a proper way, not like this ‘soulmate’ did. Damn this person. Jisung felt himself growing hate against this man, whoever it was.

 

 

 

Days had passed since he had talked to Chan. It felt odd, even though nothing really happened. He felt bad, no, worse than just bad. Terrible. He left his work early every day, didn’t sleep anymore, stopped eating. Minho was doing him good, yet he was harming him in a strange way. However, Jisung was too proud and liked Minho too much to blame anything on him, respectively to admit that something was wrong with him. He found himself writing texts and little poems as well, he even bought himself a box, just like Minho did, putting them inside and waiting. He would give it to him, Minho, when he finally found him. And he would tell him how precious he was to him. He wasn’t disgusting, he wasn’t an outsider. He was such a lovable person. Jisung loved thinking of him. Forgetting the rest. He stared at this one picture of him every night, imagining how it would be if they ever met. When they meet.  
How Jisung would take him to the beach. Maybe, he’d even take him to Holland, to Ameland. And he’d give him all the attention and love Minho longed for so badly. Minho could be an author. Or a dancer. Or anything. Jisung would do his best to give him everything he wanted, make him into whatever he wanted to be and take him everywhere where he wanted to go.

 

 

 

 _“Who knows where we’ll end up, I just hope_  
 _I’ll be with you.” 28. 08_  
Oh, Jisung hoped he’d end up with him. He wanted to meet him so badly. He didn’t know where to search anymore. He was everywhere, searched in cities, but it was wicket. Minho had vanished. No trace, no sign. Nothing. Jisung never gave up though, always went on, never stopped walking. Never stopped hoping.

 

 

 

 _“I found out today that luck is just another_  
 _imagination inside someone’s head.” 01. 11_  
Jisung tensed at that. Minho sounded hurt at that, more hurt than in the others. Did he need a hug right now? Or a pat on the head maybe? Jisung thought about what helped him when he was sad. He always loved turning up the music, so loud his neighbours got angry at him, so loud he could shut out all those emotions, all those noises around him. He checked the box as he put the paper rip into the glass, feeling his heart aching.  
There’s only one little shred of paper left inside the box. Opposite from the others, it was folded carefully, still white.  
Jisung got up, curiously grabbing his laptop. And how he’d done it so many times already, he typed ‘Minho’ into the search machine. There were probably thousands of people called Minho in Korea, and everything that popped up were diverse articles over singers and politicians who were named Minho.  
Kang Minho.  
Song Minho.  
Kim Minho.  
So many… Jisung blinked. If he only had the boy’s family name.  
“Hey, Jisung!” Said one jumped slightly at the sudden voice. He turned his head, facing Chan. “Hey.” He replied weakly, mad at himself for sounding like crying. Chan noticed immediately as he approached. “Still searching for that boy?” he asked, his voice dropped like he somehow pitied Jisung. The younger shut the laptop quickly, inhaling sharply. “Yeah.”  
“I called for you.” Chan crouched down now, hands folded in front of his body. He wasn’t scolding, but it felt like it. Jisung bit his lip. “Sorry. I’ll come down.” How much he loved Chan, he wanted him to leave. He needed some time for himself right now, he needed to clear his thoughts. “I think I’ve found something that might interest you.”  
Chan’s voice seemed so far away and Jisung was really not interested in anything right now, but because it was polite he smiled at his friend, nodding. “What is it?” he asked, making Chan shift and take out an old sheet of newspaper. “Found it last night because you wouldn’t stop talking about this guy.” The elder murmured, grabbing Jisung’s attention. He grabbed the newspaper out of Chan’s hands, eyeing it curiously.  
USA CHOSES NEW PRESIDENT said the headline. He frowned. Then, Chan pointed at a very little article at the bottom, only a few phrases long, so short that nobody would ever notice it even.  
DEAD STUDENT FOUND  
A college student’s frozen corpse was found near the Han River. No sign of external forces. The young man, Lee Minho, committed suicide by jumping into the cold water. Cause of Death: drowning.  
…  
Jisung’s throat felt tied. Chan gave him a slight pat to his shoulder, standing up then. “Dinner is ready, come down.” However, Jisung didn’t want to come down. Not that he wasn’t hungry, he just felt like he needed to think more about what he just read. It couldn’t be true. There were so many people, so many students called Lee Minho, no way this was him. His Minho. His Minho wouldn’t kill himself, right? He wasn’t really dead, he was there and made a joke out of Jisung’s reaction now maybe. He’s not dead. He’s still here.  
When Chan left his room, Jisung couldn’t help looking over his shoulders and watched the little box. How it stood there, unmoved, unchanged. He bent forward, looking inside and swallowing hard, gulping the knot down his dry feeling throat. Those ashes weren’t really Minho’s. No way. No way he was dead.  
Jisung felt his face getting hot. It was the last one. “ _03\. 11._ ” It said. He didn’t want to read it, yet he needed to. His hands were shaky and his throat felt tight. Carefully, he unfolded it and swallowed.  
“ _I walked away to save myself. Sorry._ ”  
…  
Jisung felt a single tear rolling over his cheek. Never in his entire life he had felt this empty. Was that all?  
What did he mean? What did he do? What was he sorry for?  
Jisung got up, throwing the smooth and still white rip of paper back into the box, throwing the lid shut and turning away. He didn’t believe it. He hoped for an explanation, something that told him where Minho was right now.  
After he waited and hoped for something he knew wouldn’t happen, he turned back, opening the little box again and taking the papers out. All of them, he let them fall onto the ground before he kneeled down, frantically opening all of them again and searching for something he had missed, something that gave him what he wanted, no, needed to hear right now.  
There was nothing.

 

 

 

 

 _“I think part of me will always be waiting for you, even if the other knows you’ll never come.” 11. 05_  
It was the day again, the day, exactly years ago, when it all started with those beautiful brown eyes. Jisung folded the paper sheet, crumbling it then and stuffing it into his pocket. Back then, he thought Minho referred to him. And he longed for those brown eyes, he wanted to see them so badly.

 

The soft wind tousled Jisung’s hair, playing with his bangs and with the clothes he wore. He felt odd, now, that he finally was here. Where Minho had always wanted to be. The grass around him had a dim colour and so had the pale sand in front of him. He stood on a little hill, having his shoes left behind so he could move easier. Right in front of him was the beach, but it wasn’t a beach he knew. This beach here seemed cold, not bright and not warm in colour. It was all cold. Inhaling the fresh air, he pressed the urn tighter to his chest, longing for the dead boy’s ashes to be human again, be with him. Oh… How much he had loved to once meet this special boy named Lee Minho.  
Strange, what attracts you to a person.  
And even stranger, what attracts you to a bad person.  
He swallowed, feeling the hard and prickly grass along with the soft sand underneath his feet as he lifted his gaze up in the sky. He didn’t believe in god, yet he started praying. If there was a god, why didn’t he stop Minho? Why did he take him away and leave all those painful, yet wonderful memories to Jisung? Why him? And Jisung started cursing who ever was guilty of the young man’s death.  
He heard the sea rustling loudly, the wind pulling through the air and sea gulls flying over his head. He was alone. Again. Minho’s presence lasted just as short as Jisung’s happiness, which was now replaced again by the unbearable sadness once he realized that Minho was dead. He would never come back. And Jisung would never get to meet him. He felt warm. Jisung sniffed a little, bringing his hand up to the urn’s lid and opening it quickly, stopping once he let the lid fall to the ground. He felt himself hesitating, his hand shaky. Looking inside, he saw the ashes, and he watched it just as he had watched it before. One last time. His heart ached.  
Then, he took a swing, letting the urn fly, but not throwing it away.  
The ashes flew as well, getting carried away from the wind.

In just a split second, Minho was gone. His ashes were gone. He was away now.

Right there, where he had always wanted to be.

The sea.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mess


End file.
